laughs my way to the bank

10 Fics I read October 2016

Elementary by iwillpaintasongforlou

Harry is a kindergarten teacher who’s been roped into coaching a youth footie league, despite the fact that he doesn’t know the first thing about football. Louis is the father of one of the girls in Harry’s class who thinks he could coach circles around Harry (he can).

You and Me and the Devil Makes Three by moodlighting

AU. Louis moves in next door to Harry. Louis has a ghost, Harry has an extra futon and a crush.

blood bank by starseas

be my vampire, baby, i’ll be your boy.

(or, in the middle of a snowstorm, their car breaks down and harry’s stuck with louis, a vampire).

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FAHC Aesthetic: Mavin

This city makes you feel alone, the buildings suffocate you. So when you find an escape, a person who laughs with you and creates chaos by your side, it’s like the world has been changed. The buildings no longer loom because with them they’re yours, each shop, apartment, bank, anything, it’s yours. So they’ll go wild with style and tumble in the sheets, not caring what people think and saying a big “fuck you!” to anyone that gets in the way.

Funny how Alaska fans are trying to defend her by saying “well she won $100,000 and is laughing all the way to the bank so get over it”, but was losing half of your fanbase worth it? At the end of the day Katya is the true winner of allstars 2 for being humble, honest and confident. She didn’t need to throw a temper tantrum, bribe the other queens or make alliances to get to the top. Katya did it all on her own and that’s what truly matters.

Happy birthday to me!

Today, March 5th, is a very important day. It’s the two year anniversary of Texts from Phryne Fisher! If you had asked me March 5th, 2014, if I’d still be doing this two years out, I would have laughed and then made a self-deprecating comment about my inability to stick with anything past 3 weeks. However, in the time since I started this as a way to entertain myself while I was living in an empty apartment with only a TV and cat for company, I’ve moved across the country, lost said cat to pancreatic cancer, traveled more than my bank account could take, and most importantly, kept up with both this and my primary tumblr.

Over the past two years, I have come to peace with my inability to correctly spell Phryne (”Y AFTER R” I mutter to myself angrily at least once a week), felt very very old because I’m not having nearly as much sex as the people submitting texts to TFLN, lived in mild fear that someone will one day look at my laptop files and wonder why I have screencaps titled “vagazzling” and “mustwearmoretweed” and most importantly, have watched this fandom grow from about 15 people to more than I can count. 

However, the bigger point here is YOU GUYS. The over 4000 people who follow this blog! It blows my mind every time I see the follower count. Thank you all so, so much for all the reblogs and likes and sweet messages. Here’s to another 2 years and a new season for more material!

I’m sick of being treated like I have before
Like it’s stupid standing for what I’m standing for
Like this war’s really just a different brand of war
Like it doesn’t cater to rich and abandon poor
Like they understand you in the back of the jet
When you can’t put gas in your tank
And these fuckers are laughing their way to the bank and cashing the check
Asking you to have compassion and have some respect
For a leader so nervous in an obvious way
Stuttering and mumbling for nightly news to replay
And the rest of the world watching at the end of the day
In their living room laughing like “What did he say?”


In my living room watching but I am not laughing
Cause when it gets tense I know what might happen
The world is cold, the bold men take action
Have to react or get blown into fractions
Ten years old, it’s something to see
Another kid my age drugged under a jeep
Taken and bound and found later under a tree
I wonder if he had thought the next one could be me
Do you see the soldiers they’re out today
They brush the dust from bullet proof vests away


It’s ironic at times like this you pray
But a bomb blew the mosque up yesterday
There’s bombs on the buses, bikes, roads
Inside your market, your shops, your clothes
My dad he’s got a lot of fear I know
But enough pride inside not to let that show
My brother had a book he would hold with pride
A little red cover with a broken spine
On the back he hand-wrote a quote inside,
“When the rich wage war it’s the poor who die.”
Meanwhile, the leader just talks away
Stuttering and mumbling for nightly news to replay
And the rest of the world watching at the end of the day
Both scared and angry like “What did he say?”

— 

Linkin Park - Hands Held High

This is so relevant now.

My body becomes
whirlpool, a chaotic
mess of disorientation
and gargle.

There is no fighting,
only waiting, for the
water to calm down
and the sea to have
some sense talked
into her. 

They will ask for my 
father’s phone number
when the foaming bank
of this shallow cove
bubbles from my lips
in a bar, somewhere
downtown, and I will
laugh.

There is no way they
could possibly know.

I am asked where it hurts,
and I cannot help but 
spread my arms, to their
utmost point of reach,
and spin. 

This space is all I am,
and I tell them, it hurts. 
All of it hurts.

—  “the body acts as its own ambulance”, Emma Bleker